


full of honey, just to make him sweet

by HelicopterDarlings



Category: Huntik: Secrets & Seekers
Genre: Gen, Magic AU, Magical Realism, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 07:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10079528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelicopterDarlings/pseuds/HelicopterDarlings
Summary: Grier likes brewing potions in his downtime, even if they don't always work. A man's got to have hobbies somehow. (modern magic!au)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Black Magic by Little Mix.

The tinkling chime of the non-existent doorbell was the only warning Grier had before a gust of wind entered his apothecary. It was a hazard of working seaside, but it was the price he had to pay for privacy. Oh well.

Zhalia entered the room, carrying a wicker picnic basket on her arm. Quickly, he put the lid on the cauldron before the potion fumes spread throughout the room. _Not that it would do any damage_ , he thought bitterly as he wiped sweat from his brow. He’d spent all morning making it according to the recipe, then trying to substitute the ingredients to the local ones, but the potion wasn’t doing what it was supposed to do. Sad, really. He would’ve liked to test it against Ryder’s supernatural charisma.

On the wall, a piece of copper dislodged itself from an elaborate pattern of twisting designs and held out a silver tack on its end, where Zhalia hung her black cloak. She shook her head, the dark braid of hair setting on her shoulder. Despite wearing the black garment and those long-sleeves she’s rather fond of, she didn’t appear to be fazed by the muggy heat in the room.

“Thank you, Serge,” Zhalia said, setting the basket on her other arm. The copper curled back in on itself, gleaming slightly.

“Doorbells went out of fashion years ago,” Grier said in greeting, stepping out from behind the counter.

“So did gardening by hand,” Zhalia retorted, gesturing to the array of plants and soil on the windowsill. “And yet here you are, getting your fingers caked with dirt.”

“Better dirt than blood.”

“Blood washes off easier.”

“The dirt gives character.”

Zhalia shrugged. “At least blood doesn’t get everywhere, if you’re careful.” Her eyes narrowed as she spied the pink steam rising out from the cauldron behind the counter. “Um…”

“A guy’s got to have hobbies.”

“Potion brewing though?”

“The least damaged books in the Lunae Libri were all about potion brewing. Sue me.”

Her eyes grew wide. She never really liked old magic, which Grier thinks is hypocritical for someone who raises the dead. “There are other classier, _updated_ potion books out there. Shit, I could lend you one.”

“But they wouldn’t be from the Lunae.”

She set down the basket on the table by the window. It was the least-cluttered one in the shop. “If you wanted this place to blow up because you consulted a centuries-old document with glowing runes and Latin spells, you should’ve taken it up with the chem department.”

“You think so?”

Zhalia paused. “No. Not really.”

Grier stepped out from the counter and snapped his fingers. The remaining chopped sage and ginger on the messy table scattered as a tea set flew onto it and arranged itself next to Zhalia’s carefully-wrapped sandwiches.

The teapot was made of non-magical stainless steel, bought second-hand in a market in Athens. The whole surface was covered in tiny dents, like the previous owner had mistaken the thing for a hammer and used it to pound every single nail in the house. The cups weren’t any better- the porcelain was enchanted so as not to break or rust, but the crude designs on them looked like a child’s half-hearted crayon drawings.

Grier loved it to bits.

The whole tea thing was- at first- just an excuse for her to visit. Their previous shared boss didn’t like loose ends, and Grier was aware that Zhalia had been keeping tabs on whatever non-royal thing he did, in case he put his kingdom before the company. Which, he did, but their cult disbanded and Sutos was still standing, so. There’s that.

He kept his mouth shut about her visits-slash-spying, though. Besides, it was nice having to take a break from the politics of their respective business circles and bitch about it over tea. Something about the way the wind blows makes it feel like a vacation.

And so the Arrangement became Habit. They meet every two weeks, alternating between Grier’s seaside apothecary and Zhalia’s riverside treehouse. The visitor brings the food, and the host sets the tea. Sometimes Ryder pops in whenever the skies are downcast enough for him to walk out, drinking and bitching along with them, even if he can’t actually taste the tea.

Zhalia put the basket on the floor and grimaced as the teapot levitated and poured her a cup. “How has that _thing_ not self-combusted from its own ugliness yet?”

“Sheer resilience. A good trait in teapots.” Grier reached for his sandwich, pierced with a yellow toothpick.

“Not in this one. What happened to the one Ryder bought you?”

“The self-pouring, non-reflective, delicate-looking one with the gold trim? I thought you hated that one.” The teapot poured him a cup as well. He put it to his lips and faked a sip.

“It was too extra for the aesthetic of your quaint, rustic hideaway.”

“Cabin,” he corrected.

“Same thing. You still haven’t answered my question.”

Grier set down the cup and took a bite of his sandwich. Tuna, truffle oil, and raisins. The raisin-to-tuna ratio was a bit off, but it was, as most sandwiches go, okay. Delicious still.

Zhalia stared at him. “Grier, sweetie, what did you do to that teapot?”

“Relax, it’s still in the cupboard. I didn’t want to break it. But I didn’t want to destroy the aesthetic of my quaint, rustic cabin, either.”

“And the non-magical one I bought you?”

“I had to hide it. Most of the potions I’m working on become useless when there’s silver in the vicinity.”

“Oh?” Zhalia took a bite from her finger sandwiches- bacon, lettuce, and creamy butter. She sipped her tea. Gracefully, Grier might add. Ryder loved Zhalia because of her timeless beauty. Grier loved her because she had impeccable table manners.

“I didn’t throw them away.”

“Sure,” she said.

“I don’t think you believe me.”

“Is there a reason for me not to believe what you said?”

Grier shrugged. “Seeing as you’ve already been made aware of how I’ve been wasting time recently, I think it’s my turn to ask what you’ve been doing.”

Zhalia reached through the window and plucked some mint leaves, crushing them in her tea. “Spent a whole day of work sorting out Shauna’s increasingly ridiculous orders. Encoded the previous weeks outgoing and incoming orders. Updated the blood bank’s online banking service. Downloaded five gigabytes worth of cat pics. Updated the blood bank’s website. Replaced the sugar in the break room with unsweetened cream.”

Grier waited for her to continue. She stared at him pointedly, and did not.

He blinked. “You _went to work_ for a whole week?”

“A girl has to have hobbies.”

“You managed to stomach a nine-to-five? Did someone dare you, or…?”

“It wasn’t a dare, I just had to look like I was working because…”

“Because, what?” Grier said, urging her to continue.

Zhalia opened her mouth, paused, and closed it, staying silent. She frowned and set down her tea, her perfectly manicured hands cupping the porcelain as if to hide the design. “It’s perfectly normal for people to be at work for a week and do something work-related.”

“The most normal thing I’ve seen you do in an office environment was pushing papers. Literally. Off the table and into a shredder on the floor.”

“Those documents needed to be shredded anyway. DeFoe woldn’t recognize a concise and clear report if it covered itself in neon paint gave him a lap dance.”

“Still, this is surprising. You? A field agent? Working a mundane job?”

“I wanted to try something new,” she said, slowly.

“Sure.”

Zhalia didn’t reply, instead staring at her cup, as though the porcelain personally offended her, which. It probably did.

The cauldron on the counter had stopped steaming, pink condensation droplets running down on its sides. Grier made a shoo-ing gesture, and the counter tidied itself up, rags cleaning the run-off and ingredients sorting themselves in their respective containers.

He looked back just in time to see her blow on her cup. No steam, despite the heat.

 _Shit_ , he thought. _The gig is up._

“Truth serum. Grier, you absolute sneak,” she said, regarding the cup with curiosity.

 “I told you I was experimenting.”

“This has an excellent quality, completely tasteless.” He smiled with pride. It was the first potion he practiced. It took a week to brew it, and a day and a half to procure all the ingredients. Who knew that frog’s breath would be so hard to extract?

She sighed. “Guess that raid on the Lunae wasn’t a _total_ waste.”

“You know I’m okay with lending you centuries-old documents with glowing runes and Latin script, right?”

She shook her head and sipped her tea, a wistful expression on her face. “Moon magic repels necromancy. I can’t touch those books without getting zapped.”

 _Huh._ “Is that why Ryder gave me the key to the Lunae library?”

“He gave it to you because you’re the most responsible non-vampire he knows.”

“But he trusts you more than me. Hell, I trust you more than myself.” Grier said earnestly. “I knew there was a reason he passed up the Moon guardian pun.”

Zhalia nodded somberly. “A sad thing indeed.”

Grier took a sip of his tea, to make them even. He looked around his small apothecary, to the strings of dried seaweed and lavender hanging atop the counter, to the half-open spell books on the counter. The salt air circulating in the small apothecary did its job cancelling out the different mixes of magical potions in the air.

“I was planning on making a copy of everything. Typing it out,” Grier said slowly, taking another bite and sip, letting the information soak in. “I really need a translator for some of them though. Probably have to send out an e-mail.”

Zhalia smiled an almost-smile. “I’d have to check my calendar. Maybe I can pencil in something.”

“I don’t remember asking you.”

“Please. Like you’d find another translator who wouldn’t foam at the mouth at the thought of getting their hands on a Moon book.”

Grier shrugged. She got him there. They talked about their jobs then, about Grier managing his kingdom, his slightly competent advisers, and the tedious upkeep of this private apothecary. Zhalia then spoke of the two half-demons she occasionally babysits, confessed the reason for her actually working for her cover job, about the investigation she was roped into.

They devoured the rest of their food and tea when Zhalia asked for a vial of the truth serum.

“No.”

“I’d trade you mermaid tears. Moonlight beams.”

“I already have those.”

“Blessed coconut oil. Several pouches worth of cicada screeches,” Zhalia continued, undeterred.

Grier shook his head.

“Volcanic sand from Hawaii?”

“I don’t need that.” He frowned. “And isn’t that illegal?”

“Only if you get caught,” she replied, unrepentant.

“Anyway, I’m not trading it to you.” He whistled, and a labeled water bottle flies over to their table. “I’m giving it to you gratis.”

 “Oh, for good karma. Good thinking.” She snatched it from the air. “‘Not vodka?’”

Grier shrugged. “I thought it was inconspicuous enough.”

“Sure,” she drawled. She turned it around in her hands. “Thanks. Also, you do know you can sell this right? Not that you’d need it, with you being a prince and all, but you could.”

Grier lit up. “You think so?”

“Yeah, it’s really good. If it weren’t for the fact that I wasn’t aware you put something in my drink I wouldn’t have known anything was wrong.”

“You knew?”

“You kept staring and didn’t drink your tea. Of course I knew. Guys do it in clubs all the time.”

He felt horrible now. “Sorry for making you a guinea pig.”

“Apology considered.” She waved the bottle, putting it in her basket. “If you show me the rest of your finished brews.”

“What makes you think I brew anything else?”

Zhalia stared at him.

Grier sighed, then whistled once more. The door at the back of the counter flew open and a large wooden box levitated on the table. Zhalia waved her hand and the mess from their tea cleaned up.

Grier opened the box to reveal several clear bottles full of liquid potions, all labeled in a neat hand. Zhalia picked one up, a small vial with a yellow-orange liquid inside, twirled it in her fingers. “Cheering potion?”

He hummed in confirmation. “An edible version as well. Potent enough that a drop is enough to keep it going for a day.”

Zhalia blinked, her hazel eyes slowly seeping into green as she used the Sight to assess his collection. “Multiplying potion, bubble solutions to contain air, cure boils, instant reviver for dead plants, instant reviver for dead bugs, sleeping draught, waking draught, cancelling potion, obscuring solution- you could start your own chemistry class from this.” Zhalia said. “Hell, you could put actual apothecaries out of business with this.”

“You flatter me.” But he couldn’t help puffing up in pride.

“Honest flattery, at least.” She kept looking though all the differently-colored bottles. “You labelled this alphabetically?”

“Of course.”

“Can I arrange it by color spectrum? It’s a mess.”

He nodded. “Go ahead.”

She waved a hand, and the vials sorted themselves from size and color. “Who knew you’d be an amazing potioneer, Grier? Maybe this is your calling.”

“Hell no.”

“Why not?”

“Not all of these work as well as they should. The sleeping draught needs to be mixed with milk to take effect, and the obscuring solution was supposed to be gelatinous.”

“Yet they still work.” Grier shrugged, not answering. He knew he was an okay hand at making these, but he really wasn’t as good with potions as she thought he was.

Zhalia looked at him and raised an eyebrow, then shot a pointed look at the counter where he hid the failed potion he brew earlier. He sighed in frustration, ran a hand through his hair.

She was tested negative for telepathy back in the company, but there are times- _like now_ \- that he thinks maybe she rigged the results somehow. Grier certainly wouldn’t put it past her. You can take the girl out of the spy company, but you couldn’t take the spy company out of the girl, and shit like that.

He went to the counter and pulled the invisibility cloak from the counter, handed it over to Serge. The glass tubes were filled with an iridescent smoke. At the end of the apparatus was a faucet-like handle, the tip of which was collecting a dark, velvet red condensation.

Grier picked up a stoppered vial from the counter, the latest version he brewed. “Amortentia,” he said, giving the vial to Zhalia. “Took me two hours to collect the ingredients and two months to brew it, but it didn’t turn out as good as I hoped.”

Zhalia turned over the tear-shaped vial in her hand and put it to the light, continued to assess it. “I’ve never seen an actual love potion before. Aphrodisiacs, yes, but not a single working amortentia brew. My Sight can’t confirm if this one works.”

“Oh, it doesn’t.” Grier crossed his arms, shook his head. “I’ve been exposed to that brew for the whole day and I feel nothing.”

“That’s because you’re an unfeeling slab of rock.” She joked, uncorking the vial and putting it to her nose. “Amortentia wo- _holy **shit.**_ ” She suddenly sat down on the floor, eyes closed, hand over her mouth, the other holding the vial away from her.

Grier went to help her up, but she held a hand out.

“ _Don’t_ -“ she cleared her throat, her voice hoarse. “Don’t come any closer. Just, stay there.” Her face was flushed, and she was breathing heavily through her nose. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Shit, the truth serum must have had side effects,” Grier summoned a glass of water and a cool cloth. It hovered around Zhalia, but she didn’t make any move to get them.

“Not, not the truth se _\- ah-_ no, not that,” she said. She put the stopper back on the vial and with stood up on shaky legs. Her pupils were blown, the green of her Sight a thin ring.

Squinting against the harsh light, she turned to the backroom and sent a blast of black light to the ground. And another, and another, before she sat down and grabbed the glass, draining it.

Grier summoned the pitcher of water, and gave her the cool cloth. “What the hell.”

“I know,” Zhalia agreed, accepting the cloth. “Thanks.”

Something creaked in the backroom, the sound of boxes toppling over audible despite the door. Grier turned to Zhalia, who dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “’m fine, but you need to see to that.”

Leaving her with the water, he strode to the backroom and flung the door open, only to see two small skeletons walking aimlessly around the storage area. There was a huge hole on what used to be the floor, and soil was everywhere.

Slowly, he walked to them and replaced the boxes, but the skeletons didn’t pay him any mind, walking over to the open door.

He came back outside after putting some planks on the hole, and saw Zhalia and the skeletons drinking tea. All three of them turned to him as he wiped his hand on the cloth. He tried not to flinch at their stare.

“Grier, this is Magda and Elena, the twin sisters buried under your cabin. Girls, say hi to Grier. He’s the owner of the house.” They waved skeletal fingers at him and he nodded weakly in return. The girls turn back to ‘drinking’ tea and playing with the ginger and sage on the table.

“They died in a shipwreck and washed ashore, and the people who used to live here gave them a proper burial as much as they could.” Zhalia fiddled with her woven bracelet. Her hazel eyes glowing with an unnatural light, the same way she looks every time she uses her powers. “They like your teacups, by the way.”

“Uhm…” Grier was used to Zhalia re-animating the dead, but she doesn’t usually read their backgrounds unless necessary. She explained that it took a lot of energy from her, and why she doesn’t use it as often as she does.

She smiled at him. He blinked. “You still don’t know?”

“…the truth serum enhanced your powers?” Grier hazarded.

“The _love potion_ did. It worked, Grier,” she laughed, “ _Too_ well, in fact. I had to rub off the excess energy by using my powers. Lucky that the twins were here to re-animate, otherwise I would have exploded from the magical energy.”

Grier stared at her. “You’re being weird.”

“Power of love?” she shrugged.

Grier scoffed. “Yeah, right.” He looked around at the apothecary, and found that the mint plants outside his window were bigger. The sage and lavender hung to dry were as fresh as they were picked. Grier glanced outside to see if, and, yes, his tomato plants were absolutely thriving. “You revived the plants too. Oh my goddess, Zhalia do you know how long it took me to dry out that bunch of sage?”

Zhalia furrowed her brows. “Faced with the knowledge that you unknowingly, successfully, created what is possibly the most dangerous brew in the world, and you’re worried that your plants are alive?”

“Yes,” Grier replied. “I need to give that news time to sink in.”

“Whatever you say.”

A pause. “You know that Ryder can unironically call you Persephone now?”

“Why should I worry? This news would never reach him, right?” she said, tone challenging him to disagree with her.

“Right.” Grier nodded vehemently.

One of the skeletons turned to Zhalia and nudged her teacup. She refilled it, and the skeleton took a sip. It poured from her mouth to the floor. The other skeleton looked at her, and Grier could’ve sworn that the twins looked sad.

Grier busied himself with cleaning up the apothecary, the silence only broken by the occasional tinkling sounds of the twins playing and the soft crash of waves outside.

“You know, I was kidding about calling you an unfeeling slab of rock,” Zhalia said, quietly.

“That’s okay.” Grier said. “It’s kind of the truth, anyways.”

“You’re not emotionless.”

“I’m not. And so are you.”

Zhalia hummed. “His Royal Highness, the King San Grier of Sutos, defender of the Island-“

“Seriously?”

“Captain of the Army, Head of the Organization-“

“Zhalia-“

“Master of Potions, Immune to Allure.”

“I hate you.”

“So you say. Is that the reason why you hate going to Ryder’s family dinners?”

“His sisters are _clingy_ ,” Grier complained with a low whine. “It’s like they have a bet on who can get me to cave in.”

Zhalia scoffed. “Cave in. Like you’re broken.”

“It’s not like I can explain what asexuality means to a centuries-old vampire lady.” Grier’s phone rang with an alarm, the one he set for when tea-time was over.

Zhalia stood up and shrugged on the cloak Serge handed to her. “The twins are going to be awake for a few more hours. If you need to do something, they can do some of your chores; just bury them in the back after you’re done. Say a prayer after. Hey, can I take this?” She flashed the small tear-shaped vial in her hand.

Grier was confused. “What would you need that for?”

“It might help the case I’m on.”

“Goddess, Zhalia, don’t use it on the detective. Werewolf senses are heightened, remember?”

Zhalia narrowed her eyes. “Oh please, he’ll just arrest me once it wears off, and I can’t have that.” _Oh thank Goddess, she’s still sane._

“Using it on the witch suspects?”

“Like they’d need my help.” She adjusts her cloak and waves goodbye to the twins. “Forget the e-mail, by the way. I think it’s safer if I just get them from you personally. For now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: "Character A is an aroace witch who has always thought that their love potions were lacking a certain ingredient – maybe too much vanilla? not enough cinnamon? – but after Character B samples it, Character B is practically blown off their feet with how strong it is. Turns out, Character A has an incredible gift for mastering difficult potions."


End file.
